Transparency
by mnemosyne23
Summary: Peter and Claire have a chat following the events of Homecoming. Based on SPOILERS for 1x11, Fallout. PrePaire oneshot.


**TITLE:** Transparency  
**AUTHOR:** Mnemosyne

**Disclaimer:** Not mine!  
**SUMMARY:** Peter and Claire have a chat following the events of "Homecoming." SPOILERS for 1x11, "Fallout."  
**RATING:** PG  
**CHARACTERS:** Peter and Claire (pre-Paire)  
**SPOILERS:** Through 1x11, "Fallout" (including specific dialogue)  
**NOTES:**  
I was determined to get something written before "Fallout," and watching the spoiler video posted at Access Hollywood that includes a snippet of Peter and Claire, I found my fodder. This is just a short piece, but writing it has helped me maintain my sanity waiting for this episode to come along. LOL! I hope you enjoy!

* * *

The room was small and claustrophobic; like being cloistered in a glass-fronted grave. Claire tried to ignore the prickle of discomfort that tickled the back of her neck as her father left the cell, leaving her alone with Peter. He was standing there, not looking at her, staring at the floor like a prisoner in a World War II prison camp. The silence burned her ears, made all the more noticeable by the fact that the last time they'd seen each other, there'd been a lot of screaming going on.

_...Peter, Peter, pumpkin eater, had a wife but couldn't keep her..._

"How long have you known?" she asked quietly, because when you've watched someone reassemble himself after he plummeted from a three story ledge, you don't bother too much with pleasantries.

He glanced past her shoulder at the police milling around in the station outside his cell, then shot her a confused look through his lanky hair. There was still blood caked around his collar, and she wondered why no one had given him a clean shirt yet. "Known what?" he asked, almost accusatory.

"That you're like me," she murmured with a faint shrug. What else could she have meant? "You would've died if you couldn't-"

He cut her off with a soft exhalation. "Do you...," he stammered, moving to sit on the edge of the hard cot that served as his bed. "Do you heal?" he finished, a little breathless. "Is that it?"

She nodded, smiling, and realized self-consciously that a hot lump had begun to form in her throat. "All this time I thought it was just me... now there's _you_," she murmured, voice tight as she tried to rein in this sudden groundswell of emotion. Peter seemed equally awestruck, covering his mouth in joyous disbelief.

"Is that why you came for me?" Claire heard herself asking, sitting beside him on the wafer-thin mattress. "Is that why you asked me if I was the One?"

"Well, I just... I knew I had to save you," he told her, voice tumbling over itself as he tried to get the words out.

He said it so earnestly that she almost felt foolish asking the inevitable question. "Why?"

"Save the world," he murmured, as if that would answer all her questions. As if he expected her to _know_.

"What do I have to do with the world?" she asked, confused.

"I don't know," he admitted, shoulders slumping, but he quickly straightened and added, "Yet," almost as an afterthought. Regarding her silently for a moment longer, he sighed and pushed back on the cot to lean against the wall. "I do know that I don't think I would be here if it wasn't for you," he told her plainly. Slanting her an incredulous look, he mumbled, "I think I died."

"I've done it before." Claire gave him a bright, reassuring smile. "It's no big deal." She even laughed a little.

Peter wasn't laughing. He looked a little green.

Claire hesitated a moment before laying a hand on his arm. He was covered in grime and old sweat, and felt like an oil slick under her palm, but she didn't draw away. "It's okay," she assured him softly. "You get used to it after a while." She managed a humorless chuckle. "It's kind of creepy, being able to impale yourself on a rusty piece of rebar and not even needing a tetanus shot; but you get used to it."

Peter shook his head. "Naw, I don't think I'll ever get used to this one."

"This one?"

"Power."

"You make it sound like you have more than one," she said with a confused smile.

Peter looked a little embarrassed. "Uh... I kind of... do," he said, self-consciously scratching the back of his neck. "Or don't. It's... confusing."

"Sounds it."

He chuckled, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I sort of... absorb other people's powers. Not permanently, just when they're nearby." He looked up and gave her a weak smile. "So I absorbed your healing ability back at the school, which is why I'm not dead right now."

Claire nodded slowly, digesting that. A small frown furrowed her brow. "So... there are others?" she asked. "Like us? With powers?" It sounded so weird saying that; like something you'd only read in a comic book.

"Yeah," Peter acknowledged with a nod. "There are probably more, but I only know a few. My brother, Nathan; he can fly, but he won't admit it, because he's a politician." He rolled his eyes before moving on. "And there's this little Japanese guy named Hiro who can manipulate time. And Isaac, who's a painter in New York. He can paint the future. That's how I figured out who you were." He smiled at her. "Hiro came back in time from the future, and told me I had to save the cheerleader to save the world. Then Isaac painted you."

That made Claire blink. "He painted me?" she asked. "But... I've never even MET him."

Peter shrugged. "Doesn't matter. You're important to the future, so he painted you."

"What do I do in this future of yours?"

"I have no idea."

Claire shook her head as she tried to process all this. "So what you're saying is you flew out here to Texas to save me so I can help save the world somehow, but you don't know how?"

"Well, yeah." Claire arched an eyebrow at him, and Peter laughed quietly. "All that matters right now is that you're safe," he told her. "I mean, prophecy girl or not, I'm glad you're alive." He gave her a soft smile.

Claire's eyes flickered with emotion and she looked away. "Yeah," she mumbled, staring at her hands, folded on the bed sheet.

She jumped a little as Peter placed a hand over hers, and she looked up quickly to find him watching her with sympathetic brown eyes. "I'm sorry about the other girl," he murmured. "The one who was killed."

"Jackie." Even the name hurt to say. They'd been friends for years, and even if they'd been on the outs lately, Claire would never have wished a fate like that on the other girl.

"Jackie," Peter repeated, squeezing her hands. "I'm sorry. I wish I could have done something to help her, too. Not much of a hero, I guess."

Claire managed a teary smile and squeezed his hand in return. "You couldn't have done anything," she murmured. "But thanks."

They sat in companionable silence for a minute. It was the first time in months that Claire could remember being completely at ease in someone else's presence; well, someone other than Zach. With everyone else – even her family – she was always on-guard, in case she accidentally did something to reveal her "power." It was kind of nice, thinking of it like that; a special gift rather than a freakish mutation. She supposed she could thank Peter for that. He had powers, too, and he didn't seem like a freak. Far from it.

Speaking of... "Peter?"

"Hmm?" He raised his eyebrows at her as she broke the silence.

Claire tilted her head to the side. "How did Isaac paint me?"

Peter gave her a confused look. "What do you mean?"

"You said he painted me. What was I doing?"

Peter furrowed his brow in thought. "Running," he said after a moment. "Reaching out for help."

"Then how did you know about my... ability?" These paintings didn't sound particularly descriptive to her.

He shrugged. "I didn't."

"You didn't?"

"No. Why?"

She stared at him. "Why? But, if you didn't know... how could you... Peter, you fell off a BUILDING!"

Peter blushed and self-consciously tucked his bangs behind his ear. "Yeah," he said. "Isaac painted that, too."

"He painted you falling off the school?"

"More like he painted me broken and dead underneath the clock face."

Claire's eyes widened in horror. "You mean he painted you dead, and you didn't know about me being able to heal, and you came anyway?"

"Yeah."

"Why!"

This time it was his turn to stare at _her_. "Save the cheerleader," he reminded her softly. Then, looking down at their joined hands, "I couldn't let the future down."

Claire gaped at him. This was something that quite simply she hadn't been expecting. It would have been one thing for him to fly out almost three thousand miles to save her if he knew they were both going to get out of there in one piece. It was another thing entirely for him to fly out here and willingly sacrifice his life for her on what was more or less a hunch. It literally took her breath away, and she couldn't think of a thing to say.

She was saved from the predicament when the intercom beside the bed crackled with her father's voice. "It's time to go, Claire," he said, in that even-tone that meant she shouldn't argue with him.

Standing slowly, Claire stepped back towards the door. "I promise I'll get you out of here soon," she told him.

Peter smiled wearily at her. "Thanks."

Her father was waiting outside the cell, but Claire paused as the guard unlocked the door, and looked back at the man on the cot. "Peter?"

"Yeah?"

She grinned. "You're totally my hero."

This time the smile he gave her wasn't weary at all, and she kind of hoped this future she was supposed to safeguard was going to have a lot him in it.

**THE END**


End file.
